


Where Armor Ends (Where Skin Begins)

by crackdkettle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captain America: The First Avenger, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackdkettle/pseuds/crackdkettle
Summary: “When was the last time you trimmed these talons, Rogers?”Bucky insists on reviving an old childhood practice at the front.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2020





	Where Armor Ends (Where Skin Begins)

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the song Pluto by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> Stucky Bingo - D4 - Domesticity

“Ouch!” Bucky’s arm snakes out lightning-fast before Steve can fully brush past him and closes around Steve’s wrist, bringing his hand up to eye level to examine it. “When was the last time you trimmed these talons, Rogers?”

“I don’t know, when did I find you?” says Steve, nonplussed. “A few days before that.”

“Over two weeks. Explains a lot.” Bucky tsks and all but shoves Steve’s hand back at him. “Not even gonna pretend I think you know where your clippers are,” he adds, turning away to rummage in his own pack. “Good to know even the army couldn’t succeed where I failed, at least.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“They’re not that bad.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky turns back to Steve and holds up his left forearm. “Explain this then.”

Steve steps forward, squinting.

“You can barely see that!”

“What are you talking about, you practically drew—” Bucky breaks off, frowning at the faint pink line marring his skin. Steve thinks he sees a shadow of uncertainty cross Bucky’s face, but it’s gone too quickly for him to be sure. “Well I can definitely  _ feel _ it,” he says firmly. He holds out his hand expectantly. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Steve flushes as he realizes what Bucky wants.

“I can do it myself,” he protests weakly.

“And yet you haven’t,” Bucky retorts.

“I’ve been doing it myself all this time.”

“Have you? Or were the USO girls giving you manicures?” Bucky smirks when Steve’s silence speaks for him. “That’s what I thought. Come on,” he repeats, beckoning impatiently. “It’ll take two minutes.”

Steve doesn’t move.

“I’m a big boy, Buck.”

Bucky’s smirk fades abruptly.

“Steve,” he says in a completely different voice, low and quiet, “let me do this for you. Please.”

Disconcerted, Steve steps forward and places his right hand into Bucky’s left one. He grumbles under his breath for the principle of it, but his body, even post-serum, remembers this routine well, and he finds himself relaxing a little more with every soft  _ snip _ of the clippers.

Back when they were kids, Bucky would trim Steve’s nails every time he was bedridden with pneumonia or the flu or whatever illness had brought him down that month (Steve suspects Sarah gave Bucky the job more to mitigate his feelings of uselessness than out of actual necessity). After they moved in together, Bucky insisted on resuming responsibility for Steve’s nail care because “otherwise you’ll let ’em grow into daggers, and I’ll have to walk around the place in armor just to keep from looking like I got mauled by a cat.”

“Think you’d be happy for me to have some built-in weapons,” Steve groused. “Stop you worrying so much.”

“Or you could just trim your nails and stop provoking every thug this side of the Hudson,” Bucky rejoined, and Steve begrudgingly acquiesced to the nail trimming because, well, he certainly wasn’t going to stop provoking the thugs.

Now, he doesn’t look at Bucky’s progress, instead opting to study his face, wearing the same laser focus Bucky brings to sniping. Only this is softer, gentler. At peace.

Or as close to it as Steve’s seen since they reunited.

He startles a bit when the pressure of Bucky’s hand disappears from his own.

“Other one.” Bucky’s voice is barely a whisper.

Steve obeys, blindly replacing his right hand with his left so his eyes never stray from Bucky’s face, which is still concentrated entirely on the job at hand. He looks younger than he has in awhile, or maybe it’s just the dying light streaming weakly through the open tent flap. Maybe the comforting routines of childhood can’t erase the realities of war, not even briefly. Or maybe—

A prick of pain cuts through his thoughts: Bucky’s snipped his fourth nail too close to the quick. Steve hisses involuntarily at the sudden sting, and his hand twitches in Bucky’s grasp as he instinctively begins to pull it away before catching himself and stilling.

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky’s voice, pitched lower than usual, is full of concern.

“It’s nothing,” Steve mutters. He tries to truly pull away this time, but Bucky’s grip tightens.

“Let me see.” He brings Steve’s hand up until his breath is ghosting across the for once unbruised knuckles. “Ah.” His thumb brushes along the slightly red, too-short nail. “Easy fix.”

Steve watches, transfixed, as Bucky leans forward and gently closes his lips around the aching fingertip. He lingers for a moment before Steve feels the slightest pressure against his skin, the tender completion of what is now unmistakably a kiss.

“There,” Bucky murmurs, his eyes fixed on Steve’s. “All better.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers or thinks or breathes. Bucky’s mouth is still a hair’s breadth from his hand. He’d barely have to move to close the gap, trace his lips, press his finger back into—

The dinner bugle blasts. Startled, Steve reflexively tries to pull his hand back again, but Bucky’s hold tightens further. With one final  _ snip _ he finishes the last nail — the pinky — and finally drops Steve’s hand.

“Done!” he declares, already turning to his pack to stow the clippers. “Told you it’d take two minutes. Once a week from now on, okay?”

“Yeah,” says Steve slowly. “Sure. Buck, what—”

“Come on.” Bucky straightens and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Wanna get there before all the food’s gone. I’m starving.”

“Right,” says Steve. “Right. Okay.”

As he follows Bucky to the mess tent, he runs his thumb along the injured nail again. The dull pain has all but disappeared, already halfway healed thanks to the serum.

Bucky glances at him over his shoulder with a small smile. Steve returns it, doing his best to conceal the uncertainty that’s awakened in the back of his mind.

Maybe it isn’t just thanks to the serum.


End file.
